Mining Country

So cyclist it is to be consumed with the center of this universe: ourselves. We polish and glisten about this obsession, mixing penchant with arbitrary drama and settings purposed for cycling passion which emulate survival enough to boast.

Routines perhaps only changing for the emotion of seeing new and old things as we tempo by with an obviously greater importance ahead. After it all , we want a good story for this.

Things reckoning of old days and long hours comes to mind in the new days of each year. These same long hours are what our dreams were assembled upon when the hard men of days long ago pedaled inferior equipment with superior macho to take up the slack.

We arrive a short trip from our epicenter, to the mining Country of Arizona’s history – Globe, Miami, Hayden, Kelvin. Ghosts live out there among the rust and the fragments of that long lost giant rolling industrial domination. What lies in its wake is our pavé, to no end. It is heaven so painful it must be real. Massive terrestrial scars, harsh light, and tarmac forever. There are endless miles of solitude and that inevitable, luscious, pain in the Mining Country. We are happy to be there once again. All it takes is love to find the way. The Mining Country is our “Classic” training ground here in Arizona, and to want to be there, is to be a cyclist or whatever.

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[…] its terrain is ripe for days of riding at a whim. Pinal county, where Globe resides, it’s Mining Country, elsewhere it is the the High Country and beyond that, the Frontier. In the Mining Country, hills […]